A Story Within Itself

Movies and soap operas often tell the story,
However dramatic, suspenseful, thrilling, even sorrowful.
It’s all there.
Of the life we all live,
Of many of our dreams,
Bad boy, naughty girl activities,
Closet loves that we just can’t bring out
Of our Frankenstein and gentle sides
Of details, some of our glorious past
Or recent nightmares,
Successes and disappointments.
For some reason, movies and soap operas reveal it all
As if they were written about us,
Our lives, blown up for the world to see,
To judge as if people actually have the right
Because we’re all human,
No discrimination detected on the color of blood.
But all too often that big hit movie,
The one that has us on the edge of our seats,
Really is just a replay of an actual life,
Reality in color, with acting and animation,
But real, all too real,
Kind of like Sundays at church when the pastor, priest if you will,
Appears to be looking at you, speaking deeper than just in your ears,
Tapping on your heart, your soul, making your palms sweat, your feet
itch.
Oh Lord, you’re talking to me, of yes, he knows,
Even in movies and soap operas, he knows.
That’s why, for one reason or another, we’re often flopped in front of
a television or big screen
At a particular time, our anticipations overflowed
Because there is a story, our story, only told by others,
Just without our input, that depicts our lives,
Either we can deal with it or not.
Fact is every day we live is a story within itself.